1386 - The Chosen

 

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The Chosen

She wrote to me.
Her profile

Looked promising—
No dancing.
No boardgames.
No mention of football.
No jazz clubs.

I wrote back to her.
We wrote to each other.
Her words were light—
Friendly, engaging.
We called.  We chatted.
I talked too much.  Nerves.
She sounded sweet.
A lovely laugh.

Coffee somewhere,
The standard meeting,
Was arranged.

I thought I had
A good sense of her:
What she was like,
What she would be like.

But nothing prepared me
For what stepped off
The 75 tram
And into my life.

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